Diese kleine Stille
by Bag Of Badgers
Summary: Deanon. Germany, Italy, a radiator, a blanket fort, and hot chocolate, with bonus Prussia at the end. Fluff and K. So K. So very K.


It's one of those rare, completely quiet nights, the kind where everything is muffled by snow that hasn't yet had the chance to get dirty and the Christmas lights shine gently on the small tree in the corner of the living room, decorated with the ornaments Gilbert gave them- _they're good luck_, he'd said, _you'll need them with Prissypants at your wedding_- and tinsel applied by Feliciano's favored method of throwing large clumps until it sticks. Christmas is a few days away, but there are already one or two packages under the tree- international mail is speedy this year.

And this quiet night, previously disturbed only by the occasional car passing beneath their apartment window, is broken by Feliciano dropping an armful of pillows in front of the radiator and declaring it high time for a blanket fort.

"I'll start building it," he chirps, already rearranging the furniture. "Would you make some hot chocolate please?"

Ludwig, knowing that any attempt to dissuade Feliciano would a) be futile and b) result in him receiving what he privately referred to as Oh God Not The Kicked Puppy Stare, removes his reading glasses, sets down his book, and pads into the kitchen to begin melting the chocolate. He's not quite sure as to why Feliciano thinks now is a good time, but there's very little else to do anyway and again, attempting to stop him would be useless and honestly rather mean-spirited. The silence falls again, this time broken by a few soft thuds now and again when some part of Feliciano's elaborate construction collapses. Ludwig, when he glances over at the living room, catches Feliciano dragging a desk lamp into the now-stable fort.

"It's ready!" Feliciano calls, voice muffled by the blankets draped over chairs and couch cushions.

"Just a minute," replies Ludwig, pouring the hot chocolate into two mugs and finding the Lebkuchen he'd made yesterday.

Feliciano smiles widely when Ludwig enters the blanket fort, and takes the mugs before popping a cookie into his mouth. The radiator is inside the fort, which is warm shading to stuffy, so Ludwig shifts one of the couch cushions to the side to let in air in the seconds he gets before Feliciano flops on top of him and bears them both to the pillow-covered floor. Ludwig manages to drag them up into a sitting position, Feliciano pulling several thick blankets with them and making a contented noise around the cookie.

"I brought your book in too could you move your left leg just a bit please?" says Feliciano once he's swallowed his mouthful, and reaches over to flick on the desk lamp perched next to the radiator. He then turns to the task of rearranging his and Ludwig's legs until he's leaning his back into Ludwig's chest with the blankets wrapped around them and their legs somehow already beginning to tangle, Ludwig should really look into how that always happens so fast but the light press of Feliciano's toes against his calf and the softness of his pajama pants silence the few objections Ludwig could have made. Feliciano digs his sketchpad and pen from between two pillows and pushes into the touch when Ludwig absently runs a hand through his thick brown hair, letting out another hum and a small sigh. Acquiescing to the arm Ludwig tentatively wraps around his waist, Feliciano begins alternating between sketching nothing in particular (that Ludwig can see) and sipping from the now-cool-enough hot chocolate.

Silence once again descends, small and comfortable, except for the scratching of Feliciano's pen and the pair's soft breathing. Every so often Feliciano yawns softly and shifts closer to Ludwig, who adjusts his hold on the other. He pulls the thick red comforter closer.

"Feli, there's whipped cream on your nose."

"Ah." Feliciano scrubs at his face, then looks up at Ludwig. "Are you— aw, you're wearing the shirt!" He rubs his cheek against Ludwig's collarbone like some kind of giant cat, setting his pen down long enough to poke the winged lion on Ludwig's chest. Ludwig closes his book and wraps his other arm around Feliciano, mutters "It's comfortable" and ignores the fact that he's started to flush.

"Mm. 'S nice." Feliciano seems content to rest like this with the smell of hot chocolate and Lebkuchen- they're almost half gone- in the air. Ludwig peeks at Feliciano's sketchpad- Roman arches at the top, a large Advent wreath beneath that, and now, to the side of a bunch of flowers, himself drinking hot chocolate _when did Feliciano do that_? As he stares, blush beginning to spread, Feliciano fills in a few more details.

"You're good for drawing," he says simply. "You know, you should really let me paint you sometime I mean I'm not sure where I'd put the painting but it'd be good, you'd look great painted, and you wouldn't have to take off all your clothes just some of them." Feliciano twists around within the confines of the blankets and pecks him on the jaw.

"Uh. Thank you?" Ludwig does not say that Feliciano is, in all honesty, a far better subject for art because paintings are too static to properly capture the man leaning into his arms, smiling and smelling of molasses and spice and warm earth, and it would be one of those times where his words would stick and stop halfway through. Besides, even thinking it is making his blush intensify, and Feliciano might notice soon.

Or perhaps he has, he's looking at Ludwig with the sort of amused affection in his round eyes that seems to arise in these situations. Fully turning around, Feliciano snakes his arms around Ludwig's waist and sighs against his collarbone.

They remain like that for some time- Ludwig loses track of how long exactly- there's no need to move, really, the now-finished hot chocolate and the heavy blankets and Feliciano's warm skin and gentle breaths have lulled Ludwig into a state of half-sleep. Although it's rather a large effort, he drags a hand up the curve of Feliciano's spine and into his mussed hair, which he pets rather slowly and distractedly. Feliciano lets out a small yawn.

Cracking his brown eyes open, Feliciano directs a sleepy glance up at Ludwig and shifts forward a little, hands sliding up his sides.

That's all the warning Ludwig gets before Feliciano touches their lips together in a quiet, unassuming kiss that Ludwig can see no reason to break at all, not when Feliciano is smiling against his mouth and nipping at his lips, not when he relaxes even more against Ludwig and parts his lips, tasting of hot chocolate, and Ludwig quietly loses himself in this too.

Feliciano is laughing into his mouth, short puffs of breath, and his hands slip up underneath Ludwig's shirt and down a little-

Ludwig pulls away and grabs for his wrists. "I— I'd prefer not, tonight."

Feliciano looks at him, eyebrows raised just a bit, and then says "Okay," and returns to the kissing, hands settled on Ludwig's hips, and Ludwig allows this and pulls the blankets closer and rubs Feliciano's back, yielding to his gentle affection as he nearly always does. Feliciano is so warm in Ludwig's arms, so warm and soft and- and unconditional, strangely and terrifyingly content to be like this with Ludwig in a way he's unsure how to understand, but these thoughts too disappear beneath Feliciano's soft, dry lips and slender hands.

Eventually they separate, mostly because Feliciano managed to tip them sideways and startle Ludwig in the process. It's impossible to fully stretch out in the fort, but Feliciano doesn't seem to care, instead curling up and mumbling something inaudible against Ludwig's jaw, and Ludwig thinks that probably sleeping should happen in a bed, but Feliciano's tiny, happy hum provides the convincing that he didn't really need in the first place and he lets his eyelids grow heavy and slide shut, and the last thing he feels is Feliciano dragging another blanket on top of them.

* * *

Gilbert comes in after midnight, and is very confused to see the blanket fort, especially since it happened without him and there's a light on inside it.

He sneaks towards it, intent on giving the two inside a jump and probably gaining some cuddling for himself before they wake up and realize what's going on, and pushes aside one of the blanket walls and-

Huh.

The blankets look like they're a little too tight for Gilbert to comfortably fit in between Ludwig and Feliciano, and they're pretty close together anyway, and besides Feliciano is snoring really cutely and Ludwig's face looks relaxed for once in his tightwad life and it would kind of be a shame to disrupt that and he's not going soft for thinking that at all, Gilbert just isn't tired right now. So instead of trying to squeeze himself in between the two, Gilbert just turns off the desk lamp and crawls back out of the fort and heads to bed even though he really isn't tired at all.

Ludwig wakes him up in the morning, with an impressive case of bedhead, and Gilbert taunts him about the last night all through breakfast.

title means "this little silence"; lebkuchen are a type of christmas cookie; and the winged lion of saint mark is the patron animal of venice.

dumb fluff has been achieved, and i hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
